


Still and Always

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Come as Lube, Comeplay, M/M, Makeup Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Wincest - Freeform, some kind of s9 divergence, where they get back together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set sometime in season nine while they're 'broken up', Sam and Dean rekindle their relationship - the physical portion at least - with filthy dirty sex in a bar bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still and Always

They're checked into the motel beside the bar but Sam can't even wait that long, not when it's been months since he wanted Dean like this.

Something about the bar, about how Dean looks in _any_ bar but particularly tonight, comfortable and confident and familiar, happy to play at flirting with the bartender and happier to lean back and sweep his eyes across the room looking for marks. He locks eyes with Sam like he knows Sam's been watching from the back corner, and Sam's breath catches. This must be how other people feel when Dean looks at them, he thinks, wants to drop his gaze because he feels pinned and small, shrinking back against the wall even though Dean's smiling slow at him.

Sam blinks, unsettled, hops up fast and racks the pool table without looking up again, knows Dean's walking over finally so he keeps his fingers busy chalking the cues, making sure everything is set up for a friendly game. If they were hustling, Dean wouldn't be back over so soon with the beer, wouldn't be making a point of brushing his crotch against Sam's ass in the guise of navigating the tight, dark corner.

Sam turns around, cue in each fist, and Dean's leaning against the table with a beer in each hand, one eyebrow raising, beyond suggestive. Sam has to turn back around, breathe deep, sliding the cues back onto the wall and standing up straight, full imposing height, trying to make himself slightly scary in the way Dean likes – or used to – to regain all the upper hand he's lost. When he spins around, chest all puffed out and jaw set tight, eyes dark and fixed firmly on his brother, he's pleased; Dean visibly swallows, opens his mouth to take a breath while the tip of his tongue pokes out against a tooth, against his upper lip. Dean closes his mouth and slides his eyes away and mutters something low while he hands Sam his beer.

Sam leans in too close to take it, close enough their chests touch, and he puts the bottle down quiet on the table Dean's propped up against. He's sure he feels Dean's heart racing too, has to be, and it only pounds faster when Sam presses his cheek against Dean's stubbled face, says in a rush, “Kinda wanna fuck you in the bathroom, Dean.”

Dean deflates and Sam hears him swallow again, feels the warmth of Dean's palm sliding slowly against his back, unsure if he should settle there or not. “I don't have anything,” Dean stutters out, and his hand finally goes firm and flat on Sam's lower back.

Time was they didn't go anywhere without lube, little packets tucked into shirt pockets and pants, forgotten in a million different jackets and bags, just so they wouldn't have to stop or make do. Sam doesn't remember when he stopped _expecting_ it but he did, they both did, and it's been so goddamned _long_. Long enough since they've been in a bar together and even longer since they've been this close on purpose and it's like something is waking up, flashing ideas at Sam so fast and hard and he can't steady his breath, can't pull back and won't and -

“We'll make it work,” he grinds out low against Dean's ear and turns around because if he doesn't, he's going to fuck Dean dry in the corner of the bar and there's all manner of things wrong with _that_. He reaches back, waggles his fingers out at Dean and something tight compresses in his chest when Dean slides his fingers against Sam's, clutches at his hand while Sam tugs him in the general direction of the bathroom.

Once there though, things are different. There's a lock on the door so Dean throws it, turns around and he's panting a bit already, eyeing his brother with something like trepidation and arousal stirred together. Sam takes one big step forward and he's close enough to pin Dean there, close enough to slot their legs together and grab fistfuls of Dean's jacket and haul him up against his mouth. It's not subtle or patient or sweet, it's a frantic dire sort of kiss and Dean tastes like beer and burgers from the last dive but still, after so many months, he tastes just how Sam remembers and it's perfect. They rut up against each other at the same time, groan into each others mouths at the same time and Sam _knows_ he can get Dean off like this no problem, in fact it's part of the hazy plan floating around in his brain.

“Hard already?” Sam asks, pants it into Dean's mouth and he can feel his brother's dick rising up even harder against his thigh, so he doesn't really need to ask but he _likes_ to anyway. Dean doesn't answer so Sam skims his hand down between them, palms Dean through his jeans, squeezes until Dean answers.

“Ain't the only one,” he huffs against Sam, angles his thigh to jam them together harder.

Sam _knows_ what he's trying to do and it's not going to work; he's got more leverage anyway, better positioning, much more weight to throw around so he mashes Dean back against the door with his chest, tugs his brother's pants undone and his fists his dick out and he _needs_ this to be fast, spitting on his palm and going to work, going zero to sixty in no time. Dean whines, _actually_ fucking whines when Sam starts jacking him all fast and frantic, slams the back of his head against the door and Sam moves in with his mouth, nips along Dean's gingery stubble and at his lips, licks his way inside his brother's mouth to swallow his beautiful needy noises.

“Sooner you blow,” Sam practically growls into Dean's mouth, hand stripping his dick fast and slick, “the sooner I can fuck you.” Dean's cock twitches in his hand, unmistakable, and his eyes flare open, all evergreen and sudden realization and his mouth spreads into a lazy grin under Sam's.

“You're fucking filthy,” he pants, but Sam just chuckles low and rough, pauses his frantic action to dip his thumb against the dripping precome blurting out of Dean's dick, helpful and copious as ever.

“Yeah, but you always liked that.”

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean agrees, sinks his eyes shut while his mouth slacks open, tongue poking out at the corner in concentration and he's close, Sam can feel it in the way he's twitching, the way his heart speeds up and his abs clench.

Sam takes a cursory glance at the floor and it's not as disgusting as expected, so he sinks down fast onto his knees, _has_ to be fast but this is the best way to do it, his big hand angling Dean's dick against his mouth, tongue out wide, curving around his drippy head and the taste of his brother makes him moan, makes his own dick lurch, still trapped hot between denim and his thigh. “C'mon, Dean, wanna taste it,” is literally all it takes.

Dean stutters out something like words, grabs Sam's jaw hard, fingers digging into his skin and he shoots onto Sam's tongue, almost loses his balance but Sam's there, big hands latching onto his hips, pushing him back into the wall and sinking his mouth down around his brother's dick because he needs _everything_ , every last drop in his mouth, milking Dean until he's a shaking mess.

Sam spins Dean around easily, he's boneless and pliable and likes the manhandling, knows what's happening so he turns willingly into the door, helping Sam slide his pants down, shrugging them off one leg and spreading fast for his brother. Sam _wants_ to say something about how Dean's being a needy little slut, sticking his ass out like that but his mouth is _full_ , tongue swirling around all that jizz and spit and it's probably going to be enough, it'll be _fine_. He must he taking too long admiring because Dean, impatient as always, reaches behind and spreads himself open, mutters something into the door that Sam doesn't quite catch but he's pretty sure it's all needy grumbling anyway, doesn't matter because Dean's ass is right there, all light gingery hair and freckles and it's been so _long_ but Sam can still taste him, _needs_ to more than anything. He's swiping his tongue out over Dean's hole, up and down, moaning around the taste, around the load still in his mouth, carefully held in his cheek until he's ready and Dean's _still_ impatient, turning his head and growling down, “Sammy, _please_.”

No choice after that; Sam makes his tongue a firm point and pushes, slides Dean's own load inside of him so easily and chases it with his index finger to push the mess in further, to make sure it's enough, sliding his finger in and out all slicked up and sticky while he licks around the rim and Dean basically pushes himself back on Sam's mouth, on his finger, still begging above him. Sam stands up, finger still ensconced in Dean. “Fucking _tight_ ,” he mutters, mouthing at Dean's neck, finally undoing his own pants with his free hand, shuddering out a sigh when his dick springs up against his palm, rock hard and leaky and that'll help, every little bit helps.

“Want it, Sam, please,” Dean pants over his shoulder, working himself further onto Sam's long digit.

“Heard you the first time,” Sam says, right against Dean's ear, tongue sliding around the tip of it, turning his head to spit into his hand again and slick his dick up even more.

“So fucking _do it_.”

Sam chuckles against Dean's ear but obliges, slides his dick right up next to his finger, withdraws that and presses the head of his dick to his brother's barely stretched hole, already so hot against him but certainly wet enough that when he pushes, just gently, he slides into the tight entrance, feels Dean clench needy around him, _hears_ him too, dropping his head and groaning, one hand attaching to Sam's hip, pulling him closer and Sam just goes with it, sick of waiting. It's so hot and tight and familiar, the way Dean swallows him up, the way his balls rest easy against his brother's plush ass, the way his hands latch onto Dean, one on his hip and the other winding around his chest, pulling him close as he can.

Sam wants to be careful and slow and make it last but Dean's urging him again, _very_ vocally and physically too, of course, grinding his ass into Sam, trying to ride him awkwardly standing up, one hand on his dick because he's hard again, or never went soft, Sam was a little distracted, didn't notice but he notices _now_. He bats Dean's hand away and replaces it with his own, uses his other hand to bend Dean slightly, grasping him firmly around the neck with his big hand, feeling Dean's moans vibrating against his palm when he finally starts fucking him in earnest, hips rolling slow and deep for a few minutes until they're both sweating, panting and moaning and making too much fucking noise for a bar bathroom.

Dean jostles the door every time Sam drives in, and Sam knows he ought to move Dean, maybe over the sink or against the wall but he can't be fucking bothered, just wants to make Dean spill over his hand and squeeze around his dick and then he's _saying_ that out loud, steady stream of auto-pilot dirty talk. “Gonna make you fucking scream and shoot all over the fucking door, you ready, Dean? Ready for me to fill your ass up? Been _so_ fucking long, how much you want it?”

Dean doesn't answer, not with words; Sam presses his head against the door, both of them so close and he can tell just from the sounds spilling out of Dean, from the twitching of his dick again in Sam's hand and he really _does_ want to make Dean scream, starts pounding him so hard Dean goes noiseless and tight _everywhere_ , so Sam knows that's it, knows he's jamming up against Dean's sweet spot every time, every trust, and Dean spills in a fast rush, over Sam's hand and onto the door, dropping down, still noiseless and panting and Sam bites down on his neck, squeezes, holds a thrust, bottoms out when he comes too.

“Fuck,” Dean stutters, speech sort of back but rough, talking Sam through it, “Fuck yes, feel it Sammy, so deep, _so_ much come for me, _god_. Gonna drip out all fucking night.”

And Sam stays inside for a long while, both arms wrapping around Dean's chest, head buried in his neck. It's nearly romantic, even with the jizz dripping off his hand and down the door, his dick softening inside his brother. But it's decidedly unromantic when someone pounds on the door, makes them both jump; Sam slides out with a sigh, _wants_ to make Dean clean him up but settles for some rough paper towels instead. In a record two minutes, they're mostly back to rights, even if Dean is walking a little funny. They go right to the motel, don't stop to finish their beers or anything, and the rest of the night is spent reacquainting with tongues and mouths and fingers, familiar old tastes making them happy, even if it is only for a little while. 


End file.
